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Donora Digital Collection: The Arts

"I have felt the fog in my throat --The misty hand of Death caress my face;I have wrestled with a frightful foeWho strangled me with wisps of gray fog-lace.

Now in the eyes since I have died.The bleak, bare hills rise in stupid mightWith scars of its slavery imbedded deep;And the people still live - still live - in the poisonous night."- John P. "Moon" Clark